Beach

an aging lighthouse
stands sand blasted and buried
by the walking dunes
–
frigid winds-
the predawn
desert frost

reeds and rushes-
a warm tide ebbs from the marsh
and runs to the sea
–
sea glass-
walking the beach
at low tide

waves rise up and fall
the rhythm of the ocean
moves us together
–
surfing-
the swell
of your hips

the lobsterman’s wife
watching the lighthouse at the
dying of the day
–
silent passage-
darkening water
laps the shore

clouds out ash and dust-
the soil of this arid land
affords no purchase
–
orange skies-
rivers of black glass
plunge into the sea

the wind on the dunes-
playful fingers turning the
pages of my book
–
wet towels-
bare feet
on my dash

a cool ocean breeze
comes onshore and brings the taste
of salt to my lips
–
low tide-
footprints of gulls
in the wet sand

seagulls hovering
wings outstretched and motionless
faced into the wind
–
sunrise-
beach sand in her
wind blown hair

leaning back eyes closed
listening to the whitecaps
as they roll on shore
–
salt spray-
roaring wind
in my ears

a once proud lighthouse
wind battered, cracked and aging
still stands defiant
–
chalk cliffs-
scoured by
an angry sea